


No Role Modelz

by DarthPeezy



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canonical Character Death, Family Feels, Guilt, Identity Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28112982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthPeezy/pseuds/DarthPeezy
Summary: Spiderman dies in a random alley, carried by a child half his size, his final moments witnessed only by the Prowler.in which, Miles refuses to leave Spiderman behind, the Prowler finds him regardless, and Aaron Davies realises how close he came to killing his nephew
Relationships: Aaron Davis & Miles Morales
Comments: 4
Kudos: 108





	No Role Modelz

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the title is in reference to "No Role Modelz" by J Cole.

Spiderman dies in a random alley, carried by a child half his size, his final moments witnessed only by the Prowler. It is an ignoble death. The man—because all heroes are just people, mortal and fallible—died long before the child stumbles to the ground. The corpse topples over with the lethargy of the dead.

There will be no parting words, no final assurances. Just a silent corpse and a broken legacy.

Prowler watches this from a roof, perched and ready to end it. But there is no rush. Let the child realise the futility of his attempts to resuscitate the fallen hero. Let despair incapacitate him before Prowler ends it all. It isn’t cruelty but pragmatism. Grief chokes and despair makes people slow. An easy thing to take advantage of.

The child had been conniving and nearly escaped Prowler despite the burden of carrying New York’s heart. Invisibility, sporadic though it was, had thrown him off when the child laid a false trail and circled back. But his inexperience had shone through, his plot easy enough to unravel.

Prowler is tempted to keep the child. Invisibility would be a massive paradigm shift to his standard operating procedure. Far too much utility to ignore. Sure, the kid might reject the idea at first, but violence and kindness in the right ratio can make loyal soldiers. Bringing the Spiderman’s body will get him enough forgiveness that Fisk will forget all about the kid, at least, for a little while.

That temptation passes. Fisk wants both the spider and the thief dead at his feet. Not worth risking his professional relationship for someone who will probably be more trouble than they’re worth.

Prowler’s done terrible things. He catalogues them by degree. Theft is a lesser degree. Pushing away his family and driving his mother to suicide—no matter what that fool officer says—is somewhere in the middle but definitely beneath numerous hitjobs, extortions and heists. Usually, he prefers planning out what degree of evil to commit in any given job. A good burglary shouldn’t involve any deaths. Know your entrances, exits, the number of guards, camera angles, the racial distribution of the area to determine police response time, and no one needs to die. None of his hits are messy even if there is interference. Contingency plans help in that regard.

Prowler is a planner and a damned good one. He plans ever degree of evil he will inflict on this world so that at the end, when faced with whatever comes after, he can say  _ here, see what I have done, these are my sins and I know their every name. _

Murder of a child will be the darkest degree so far.

It doesn’t matter if Prowler brings him alive to Fisk or not. If he has information, it will be extracted, and the corpse disposed of. If the child is a hapless bystander then his corpse will be disposed of as well. No matter, Prowler will be the reason this child dies.

Prowler swoops down from his perch on the roof, cape fluttering in the wind. The kid tenses just as the Spiderman would. That damnable sixth sense, but it is far too late. He crashes into the child, his weight crushing bone. A gasp of pain is wrenched from the child. Prowler grabs a tiny shoulder, claws ripping through flesh and slicking metal with hot blood.

He rises in one powerful motion, swinging the child into the wall. Concrete splinters beneath the force of his attack. The hood is swept away and Prowler sees his face.

His heart stops, freezes still just as the world around him freezes as his senses narrow. Sound fades away but for a choked sob that he knows intimately.

Prowler knows that face. Has seen it in life so often that he could paint each imperfection with his eyes close. That face pulls him from the darkest depths in his dreams but it also condemns the man beneath the mask for his failings. Those features are twisted by pain and despair.

“Miles,” Aaron whispers, unthinking.

And oh god, it is Miles. No matter how much Prowler tries to come up with reasons for this impossibility—clones, illusion, a cognitohazard, anything but Miles who is warmth and light and laughter, and who should never be in pain—he can’t deny the reality before him. The shape of his jaw. The softness of his eyes. The old scar just below his left ear, a thin line of black from falling off his bike.

Aaron follows the slope of that scar to a shoulder ripped bloody by Prowler’s claws. They’re still there, he realises slowly, horror fogging his brain. Still causing Miles pain.

Aaron lets go, shame and self-loathing burning at his fingers. Miles slumps down, hand reaching to cover the wound, to cover up the pain. He looks up at Aaron, fear in every inch of his body.

“Please,” he begs. Begs Prowler. Begs a villain who has shown no mercy.

Aaron has heard him say it so many times. Sometimes when he’s trying to hustle Aaron out of his old electronics. Others when a new pair of Jordans come out and the kid’s blown through all his allowance money. He’s heard that  _ please _ in so many different ways and Aaron only now realises he’s memorised every intonation and inflexion, every time it’s said connivingly or plaintively or politely—and that’s one thing Jeff did right, raising the kid with manners, and Aaron ain’t the best at it, but he still makes Miles say  _ please _ and  _ thank you _ every once in a while.

So yeah, it makes him a bit sick to hear Miles beg for his life.

Everything he’s done has been to keep Prowler separate from Aaron. They are not the same person though they bleed into each other. Miles has seen Aaron burn with anger but never with the cold, clinical fury of Prowler. He’s seen moments of unexpected cruelty but never the acts of premeditated brutality. This kid’s the closest he has to a son and he’s refused to let him see the monster hiding beneath the surface.

_ If you tell him the sky’s orange then he’ll believe you with a smile _ , he remembers Rio’s father saying when Miles was a toddler, a few scant years before he perished.

_ Hah, you hear that Jefferson, you actually gotta learn some colour theory _ , Aaron had said with a hearty laughy.

_ You as well _ , Rio’s father had warned him later, when the others were asleep.  _ I know your kind. Used to be like you. Probably did worse shit than you can ever imagine. So, you damned well listen to me when I tell you that if you’re there for this kid then you do it right or you don’t do it at all. _

Aaron hadn’t understood it then, couldn’t understand it until he saw Miles focus on him, watch his every action, and catalogue every unspoken ideal as gospel. Like Aaron was some sort of role model to follow. Aaron’s never felt more pressure than when he shows Miles how to tag a wall, how to navigate subways and jump fences, because those eyes see everything.

Those same eyes watch Prowler now. The mask tugs at his skin, sweat sticking fabric and flesh. It slides off eventually.

Aaron holds Miles’ gaze as the kid works through everything. Uncertainty. Shock. Panic. Fear. Then, rate there at the end, the tiniest glimmer of hope.

“Uncle Aaron,” he whispers.

There is a smirk he’s practised in the mirror a thousand times over just for Miles. It's full of swagger and suave, got a hint of the hood in it, but with just a smidge of sophistication. A smirk that only a real G could pull off. It’s a lie, yeah, but that don’t mean it ain’t true to Miles.

Aaron doesn’t expect Miles to burst into tears. It’s an ugly sight. Fat tears mingling with dust and blood. Slowly, he removes his gauntlets revealing the black gloves of his fingers. Those too he removes. He reaches out for Miles, keeping his features steady when Miles flinches no matter how much that guts him, and lays his hand on Miles’ uninjured shoulder.

“I didn’t know it was you,” he promises, pushing down his guilt and fear. “I’d never hurt you. Not-not, on purpose. Miles, I love you kid.”

He tugs Miles towards him, brings cradling him against the hard plates of the Prowler’s suit. He runs his hands through Miles’ hair, ruining his afro further, but Miles leans into the comfort. The sound he makes will haunt Aaron to his last days. A whine when his voice cracks. The rawness of his sobs.

A seagull squawks, breaking him from his thoughts. They weren’t there when he was younger, not so many at least. He remembers the pier the day he nearly died. Jeff hadn’t picked him up from prison. None of the guys he used to run with answered his calls. The world hadn’t cared about him and wouldn’t care at finding his corpse. He’d been ready, gun in hand. Only a seagull had stopped him. It wasn’t watching him, nothing so special like that. It was just pissed Aaron was blocking the best garbage dump.

Right now, he wants to die more than that day. Whatever else he’d done as Prowler, he’d promised he wouldn’t let it hurt family, always thinking it would be someone going after Rio or Jeff as leverage. Never gave thought to the idea he’d rip his nephew to bits and come close to killing him.

Death ain’t redemption. One good act won’t fix a lifetime of shit, maybe a thousand good acts won’t make up for them. But fuck if Aaron doesn’t want to see this kid grow up happy and stand right by his side when he achieves his dreams. Right now, he knows he doesn’t have a right to even hope for that. He’s got to live, to see shit through to make amends for this, cause living is the only way to redeem your failings.

“I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m so sorry. I never would have. Not to you. It’s no excuse but I’m sorry.”

Miles pulls away, eyes puffy and red. There’s horror again in his eyes. “But you would have.”

_ No, I would have questioned you and let you go,  _ Prowler wants to say. Aaron doesn’t say that. A Prowler solution led to this.

“I would have.” He says it bluntly, without inflexion. It is a hard truth, a terrible truth, and Miles needs to know so he can make a decision. “This ain’t no thing I would do to you. If I was going to hurt you, I could have. I won’t. These hands have done some shit things, Miles, but hurting you ain’t on the list.” His eyes glance over his bloody shoulder. “Well, maybe before tonight.”

Miles steps away and to the side. Aaron can practically hear the way his heart thunders, and though Prowler wants to catalogue lunge distances and the best way to pin the kid down, Aaron keeps calm, keeps steady. Not the calm before pulling a trigger with the assurance the someone will die. Nah, it’s the same calm reserved for quiet moments in the summer, watching the Knicks get their asses kicked for the ninth time in a row or watching the kid light up listening to the Roots for the first time. It’s a vibe Miles know by instinct even if half his instincts are probably screaming at him to get the hell away from the villain who just hurt him. Honestly, Aaron wishes the kid would run because this willingness to trust someone who has hurt you never ends well. Jeff was smart enough to turn away from Aaron. Fuck, looking back on it, there’s a reason he hasn’t been in a relationship in three years because whilst he might be progressive, he ain’t jeff. He grew up in the hood and learnt his behaviours there, and they weren’t healthy. And maybe he got sick and tired of the fights and putting energy to manipulations when Prowler took up so much time.

At least Miles keeps his eyes on Aaron the entire time he edges towards the corpse, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. Not ideal, but better than nothing. Every step Miles takes has the kid flinching in pain and each flinch is like a bullet through Aaron’s heart.

Miles turns away from him to stare at Spiderman’s corpse. New York’s favourite son, soaring so brilliantly between skyscrapers the glowed white in the sun, while Aaron kept his head down, hustling to survive and make something, anything, of himself. Aaron doesn’t hate Spiderman. People don’t think it to be like it is, but it do. There ain’t nothing to change that. Some differences are fundamental, and people will always be paying for the sins of melanin. It doesn’t change that he willingly stole, threatened and killed. It isn’t some kind of great justifications for his terrible actions. It doesn’t change the fact that he hurt those closest to him and eventually, they turned away from him.

_ Fool me one time shame on you _

_ Fool me twice, can't put the blame on you _

_ Fool me three times, fuck the peace signs _

_ Load the chopper, let it rain on you. _

He’d let Miles sing those words without complaining about his swears. The kid had loved the song, the entire album. Aaron had smiled despite his regrets because He’d fooled Jeff far more than three times. Miles sang that song and laughed at the man who betrayed his own father every moment of every day for a decade.

Fuck, Aaron decides. Fuck everything.

“He’s gone.”

Aaron nods, tracking a cat flit across a fence. “I’m sorry.”

“You killed him.”

“No. I didn’t.”

God, the kid’s gotten so big. When he faces Aaron, there is strength to him. Despite his pain and grief, despite betrayal and despair, he still stands. Staring at him, Aaron knows that this is a critical juncture. The world hinges on the next few minutes.

“You worked with them,” Miles hisses. Frigid wind steals his tears, steals his grief. “You would have killed me. You said so.”

“I did.”

“Why this?” he roars, his hand clutching at his chest as if his heart is going to break. Maybe it already has. “Dad said you’d done bad things but this shit? The fuck, Uncle Aaron.”

“Language,” he says errantly, stalling, working through arguments in his head.

“Nah, don’t give me that.” Miles shakes his head. “Did you know you were chasing a kid?”

He can’t stand that condemnation in those eyes. It is every fear of his brought to life. Aaron knows that look, that promise implicit in every line of Miles’ pain. Now that he knows, Miles won’t stop till he has answers, till there is justice in this world again. And maybe this is where his path has led, but Aaron doesn’t want to live in a world where he can’t have his nephew.

“I didn’t kill Spiderman,” he says slowly, steadily, gaze unwavering. These words are true, and he’ll force the whole universe to believe them. “That was the Green Goblin. You’re right. This isn’t a good look because there’s nothing good here. I’ve done some shit that I never wanted you or Jeff to know. But I’d never hurt any of you.”

Miles snaps, slamming his hand into his wounded shoulder. His fingers dig into bloodied flesh, but his gaze never leaves Aaron.

“What do you call this shit?”

“The worst mistake of my life. One I ain’t gonna forgive myself for.”

“That doesn’t change what you did.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Miles’ fingers clench tighter, digging further into the wound. Aaron knows he’s imagining the wet squelch but it fills him with more self-loathing.

“Don’t do that,” Aaron snaps because he can’t watch this kid be in pain. “Come here, Miles.”

“No.”

Aaron rolls his eyes. “ _ Miles _ .” He pitches it just as Jeff would.

Miles stares at his feet for the traitors they are when he finds himself moving. Aaron huffs, gently prying Miles’ fingers away from the wound. His fingers are clenched tight, digging into the wound. It’s a terrible wound and when Aaron knows he’ll see it each time he closes his eyes. There are bandages in one of his belt pouches. His movements are slow so as to not startle Miles.

“How long have you been doing this?”

Aaron gently wraps the bandage around the kid’s shoulders, swallowing as red seeps through white. Every wince makes Aaron guiltier than he already is. If there’s a bottom to guilt, Aaron hasn’t found it yet.

“A bit after I left prison. I had no one and nothing. Needed food and a roof over my head.”

“Dad—”

“Wasn’t speaking to me. The cop with a criminal brother? In the NYPD? Fuck, I don’t even know he made it through training. We fought a lot, Miles. He wasn’t gonna speak to me or let me crash on his couch again. I don’t know if it would have changed anything. Maybe. Probably not. You don’t just unlearn everything you know. Not when you’re young and angry. It was the right choice if I’m being honest. You always pick the people who haven’t hurt you and man, me and Jeff? We hurt each other a lot. Not always on purpose but it wasn’t good. He probably assumed I’d do the same shit and he had a baby on the way. He cared about you too much to let me bring my baggage over.”

These are Prowler's words, clinical and piercing, cutting past Miles’s defences until the kid can't tell up from down. And though it is Prowler who chooses the thoughts, it is Aaron who delivers them, his voice lilting and gruff and tender. He does it as he bandages a wound he inflicted on his nephew, wrapping Miles’ upper arm to his torso to stop the kid moving it any further.

Manipulating his nephew is just another degree of evil. It’s selfish and spiteful, but at least he’s being honest. That makes it better. Somehow. Probably.

“And no, that’s not a justification,” he says seeing Miles’ guilt for something he had no choice in. “I made a lot of bad choices. Made a lot of worse choices. Picking up Prowler? That was my choice. It was my choice to do all the bad things I did.”

“Why? You could have stopped.”

“Yeah.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“What answer do you want, Miles? It was what I knew and what I was good at.” He shakes his head. “Kingpin knew my name, knew my face. I quit and things go sideways. And yeah, that’s not a good reason. I trapped myself with my own mistakes.”

Miles snarls, his free arm snapping out once more. It slams into the concrete. Aaron watches it crater beneath his strength, splintering in patterns like spiderwebs. A single blow like that would kill Aaron. All that strength contained in a boy he watched grow and stumble and make mistakes, a kid who asked advice on girls and would sing along to anything with a rhythm.

In that moment, he understands the enormity of being a parent. Kids grow so damned fast and they surpass you before you know it.

Miles trembles, staring at his fist in astonishment and fear. Aaron hates that look.

“I’m proud of you.”

“You know I can’t let this go.” Miles looks away. “I can’t just ignore it.”

Aaron reaches out, hooking his finger beneath Miles’ chin, forcing him up. Whatever comes of this, they both need to face the consequences of their decisions. Face each other as men, as uncle and nephew. As friends. He realises then and there that Miles is his best friend. That’s a sad thing to realise. J Cole could probably spin a few verses from that one thought.

“Yeah. You’re a good kid. Braver than anyone I know.”

“I didn’t help him.”

Aaron looks past him to the corpse of Spiderman. The great hero of New York dead and forgotten in this dimly lit alley where people have been mugged, killed and rape. It’s a shit place to die. Maybe it’s the end of the road for all heroes. Maybe it’s the end of the road Miles would want to walk down.

“How the hell could you? You carried him out and that’s more than enough. More than anyone could ask of you. I’m proud of you.”

“Don’t say that,” Miles whispers, tears threatening to fall again. “You don’t get to say that.”

“I’m proud of you. I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear.”

“Don’t.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I love you no matter what you do.” That’s true and it is all Aaron speaking. “You gotta do what your heart tells you.”

“What now?”

He sees the possibilities unfold before him, the universe splitting in half then half again, a pattern that repeats as he glimpses worlds that could be, never will be, and have already died. Worlds where Prowler is a hero and invited to family dinners. A world where he betrayed Kingpin and ruled New York as a tyrant. So many where he dies nameless and forgotten, the tragic origin to the boy before him, a boy who soars to heaven and hell in equal measure.

The child before him is the son he will never have and represents the future. Prowler is a meticulous planner and Aaron is a selfish man. He makes a choice.

He extends his clawed gauntlet, still slick with Miles’ blood.

“Do you want justice?” Aaron that is Prowler asks. “I can’t bring him back, but I can give you justice. Kingpin made me go after my nephew. I ain’t letting him walk away from that. I can’t make up for what I done in the past, but I can try now. I don’t always know right from wrong, but you do. You in?”

Miles, the fool that he is, will always trust Aaron. It is his love that damns him.

Tiny fingers make an unsteady journey to his gauntlet. They wrap around wickedly sharp claws without fear. There is so much strength hiding in those fingers and yet, Miles is so careful.

Aaron pulls his nephew close, breathing in his scent—shitty axe body spray, a knockoff Cantu product, and acrid sweat, all underpinned by the metallic scent of blood. He cradles Miles head, hiding him from Spiderman, keeping him safe from that future. He rises, bearing Miles’ weight with practice borne of years.

“I love you, Miles. Let’s go home.”

Aaron doesn’t know what will come next. That hallucination of the future is gone. Maybe it was nothing more than a fever dream. Right here, in his arms, is the greatest prize.

Aaron carries his crying nephew, but it is Crawler who leaves Spiderman’s corpse in the dimly lit alley.


End file.
